The regular firearms season for deer is over, but hope springs eternal for those not fortunate enough to have filled their tags. Depending on where they hunt, archers and muzzleloader hunters still have a week or two to secure some venison for the freezer, which is an appropriate way to think about it because it’s going to be cold out there – cold and quiet.

The woods in December seem decidedly desolate. Most of the migrant birds have passed through. Squirrels and chipmunks have gone into hibernation. Hunters have tagged out or called it a season and moved on to tuning up snow machines and preparing ice fishing traps. And there are far fewer deer around.

Those that remain have been well-educated. They’ve withstood a month of bowhunters and a gauntlet of gunners for an equally long period. They’ve learned that daytime means danger and move far less when the sun is up. They’re also spending more time in thick cover where they can lie unseen, and make a quicker and easier escape when disturbed.

December deer hunting is a game of endurance. The sun is nearing its lowest angle and temperatures their lowest levels. Dawn’s icy cold stings the skin, then slowly seeps into any chink in the hunter’s armor, numbing first fingers, then hands; toes, then feet. Sitting immobile for hours on end only enhances the effects.

One could walk, as they may have in November, slipping along or following a track in fresh powdered snow, if it exists. More often, the ground is covered with frozen leaves or snow that crunch loudly in protest to every step upon them, alerting all around to the hunter’s presence.

Even the deer don’t venture out as much or as often as they did. Moving about in the cold requires energy, burning valuable calories they’ll need to survive the long winter. However, their efforts to minimize heat loss reveals a potential weakness. Now, they’ll be more inclined to seek out the shelter of softwood cover that breaks the wind and reduces snow depth, or south-facing side hills that see more of what little warmth the winter sun offers.

The days wind down with seemingly endless hours of endurance. An icy northwest wind gusts through the hemlocks, dislodging a cloud of loose snow through its limbs that obscures both sight and sound momentarily. As it clears, something seems different: a patch of brown, a sliver of white, and a round black eye that moments before wasn’t there. Sometimes the vigil pays off.

Bob Humphrey is a freelance writer and Registered Maine Guide who lives in Pownal. He can be reached at: bhunt@maine.rr.com

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